Beautiful March

by Christy Pastore

  I peer into the fridge. “What no Tab?”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “Says the girl who guzzled Snapple all summer.”

  “You didn’t tell me I needed to dress up,” I comment grabbing a wine glass off the counter.

  “You didn’t need to dress up. But if you want, you can pull something from my closet.”

  She’s funny. Mom is all of five-feet tall. I’ll be lucky if I get one arm in a shirt. Mom takes my money and stuffs it into an envelope.

  “Thanks. It’s all good.” I pour a glass of wine and then relax into the conversation with my mom’s friend, Beth, about the food and the weather.

  “I just love that WTForecast app, Haven. Have you seen it?”

  Before I can answer her, the bell rings and everyone takes their seats. “Oh, I’m so glad you could all make it for our ladies’ night,” Mom chirps.

  Cheers erupt around room and the clapping is deafening. The game starts and the shit talking surprises the hell out of me. The mild curse words flow as easily as the booze and conversation.

  Holy shit. These ladies are competitive and supportive at the same time.

  “Bunco!” A bell dings. I look around before rolling the dice. A woman with spiked pink hair walks over to the head table and takes the fuzzy dice from Mrs. Flannery, my high school art teacher.

  After two sets of play, we take a break and I check my phone.

  Tyler: How’s the game going?

  Me: It’s fun. I’m not doing so hot, but I think my luck will change. How’s the ball game?

  Tyler: Cubs are up by two. Hope you win lots of money. Maybe we can play a game later? Can I convince you to spend the night with me?

  My fingers hover over the screen and I consider my response. I’d love to spend the night with Tyler again. I left Oliver enough food and water. He’ll be fine until the morning.

  Me: Does this offer also include Sunday morning breakfast?

  Tyler: Of course. Breakfast in bed.

  I smile and tuck my phone back into my purse.

  “So, Haven, my daughter says she saw you on a date with Tyler Nichols the other night.” A woman with dark black hair and blue eyes corners me by the bowl of cheeseballs. I don’t recognize her.

  “Uhm, hi.”

  “It’s Susan Stuckey, well, Jackson now. Jenna Rae’s mom.”

  I swallow down my shock, because she doesn’t look like the same Susan Stuckey—Jackson I know. It’s hard to believe I’m looking at the same person. While Jenna Rae is as mean as a viper, her mom is one of the nicest ladies around.

  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t recognize you. You look amazing.”

  “Well, I dropped the man and dropped the weight. I lost one hundred and thirty pounds,” she stage-whispers.

  My brows rise. “That’s incredible. What did you do?”

  “Tried the Mediterranean diet. A gal in my book club swears by it. Hard to ignore the results, right?” She taps on her phone screen and shows me her before and after pictures.

  “That’s impressive, really. Good for you. I’m sorry to hear about you and Mister Stuckey . . . Jenna Rae’s dad.”

  Susan waves me off. “It’s okay, I’m remarried.” She flashes me her diamond ring. “So, about you and Tyler Nichols. Does your momma know that y’all are an item?”

  “I wouldn’t say that we’re an item.” A smile breaks across my face.

  She eyes me over her wine glass. “Uh huh, I know that look. You’re a smitten kitten. Tyler put that smile there.”

  The blush rises in my cheeks. “I suppose that he did.”

  “Well, when y’all wanna make it official, I’ll take your engagement pictures. Then, Jenna Rae can run the announcement in the paper.”

  My face scrunches. Right, Jenna Rae works at The Mayfield Journal.

  “I just met him,” I say. “We’re taking it slow. But actually, I don’t even know . . . I mean, I have to go back to Los Angeles next month.”

  The bells rings and my mom asks everyone to return to the game.

  “Well, dear, it was good chatting with you,” Susan says. “Good luck in the game.”

  “You too.”

  I blow out a deep breath and refill my wine glass. Lord, Jenna Rae’s running her mouth about me and Tyler. I’m not hiding it, but I don’t even know what Tyler and I are doing. I take a seat at the table with my mom. She’s my partner for this round.

  “You havin’ fun, honey?” she asks.

  “I am. Are you?” I nod to her score card. “That’s a lot of ‘W’s’ and mini buncos.”

  She waggles her brows. “Yes, I’m having a blast. It’s my lucky night.”

  The bell rings. Mom places the dice in her hand, takes a few shakes then rolls. “Come on, ones.”

  Three ones come up. “Bunco!” she calls out. Since we’re not at the head table, the game still keeps on going until the head table reaches twenty-one.

  “What’s this I hear about you and Tyler Nichols?” Mom asks.

  I huff a laugh and take a sip of wine. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “Tyler Nichols, isn’t he the one that owns that restaurant over there in Smyrna Hills?” the lady to my left says, I believe her name is Diane.

  “Oh,” her partner, Tatum exclaims. “He also works at Nichols Corp. Tyler’s so nice. Hot too.”

  “Yeah, we hired his company to help us move the salon a few years back,” Diane mentions and takes a drink.

  Tatum rolls the dice, “Ugh, nothing. I’m not getting anything tonight.”

  Mom levels her gaze to me. “So,” she says and shakes her head. “Are you two dating?”

  “Mom, how can we possibly be dating?”

  The dice passes to me. I take a good shake and roll. Nothing. Nada.

  “Why wouldn’t you be dating?”

  “I live in Los Angeles and he lives here,” I remind. “And like I told Susan, it’s been a short few weeks.”

  “Bunco!”

  The bell rings signaling the head table winners made it to twenty-one. Saved by the bell, literally! I move to a new table and sit across from Beth. She gives me a small smile and glances at her watch.

  Some of the ladies refresh their drinks. Others load up with more snacks. My mom’s busy refilling the candy bowls at our table.

  “Are we ready?” someone from the head table asks.

  Conversations stream around the room and 80s music pumps through the speakers. Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar On Me” begins to play and I can’t help the smile that breaks over my lips. My mind wanders back to that night at the strip club.

  My body’s still feeling tingles from all my Tyler induced orgasms. My thighs and ass hurt too. Not even a couple of aspirin provided any relief. I’m in deep with this guy, I’m afraid. And it might just break me when I leave.

  The night passes by slowly and we finally end the fourth set. Diane and Mrs. Flannery, whose first name is Annabelle, are the big winners. It’s a little odd saying goodbye to her using her first name.

  Even though I’m eager to get over to Tyler’s, I stay and help Mom with the cleanup.

  “Honey, you don’t need to do that.” She motions to the dishwasher.

  “Mom, I’m here so just let me help you.”

  She smiles and pushes my hair behind my ear. “You’re a good kid.”

  I laugh and put the glasses on the top rack. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

  “No matter how old you are, you’ll always be my kid.”

  Mom scurries around the kitchen, tossing out the trash and placing food that she doesn’t throw out into plastic containers.

  Bursts of laughter echo through the foyer and my head snaps up. I hear Dad’s voice drifting through the hallway.

  My brother, Brant, walks into the kitchen and I nearly drop the wine glass that I’m holding onto.

  “Sis.”

  I run toward him, practically jumping into his arms. He pulls me into his frame. “Brant, oh my god. I can’t believe you’re here.” I hug him tig
ht.

  “I can’t believe that you’re here.”

  Even after living in New York all these years, he still has that low, gravelly southern drawl. It’s got an edge of refinement though. I stare at him. His dark hair is longer, it hits just above the collar of his shirt, and he’s got a scruffy beard. He looks rugged and handsome. Brant’s a lady killer by all accounts.

  “You got time for a drink or you needing to be somewhere?” he asks and tugs a strand of my hair.

  I smile. “I got some time.”

  “I’ll grab the beers and meet you on the porch,” Brant mentions as he strolls over to the refrigerator. “Thanks for the game, Pop.” He slaps Dad on the shoulder.

  Dad reaches for Brant and pulls him in for a hug. I can’t make out what they’re saying.

  “Night, Mom,” I call out as I dig my phone from my purse. “Thanks for the invite.”

  “If you were here more often, you could play regularly. Get you back here for all four seasons and out of that sun.” She tosses me a wink.

  “Don’t start with me, Mom.”

  Me: Hey. My brother, Brant, is in town. He’s here at my parents’ place. I’m going to have a beer and catch up with him.

  Tyler: Okay, have fun. Don’t make me wait too long.

  A picture of him lying in bed, looking all sexy in a pair of shorts and a V-neck t-shirt flashes over the screen.

  Ugh. It’s seriously unfair how attractive he is. I amble out to the patio near the pool. Brant’s sitting back on a chaise lounge.

  “Here ya go.” Brant hands me a beer and then clinks his bottle to mine.

  “What brings you home?” I ask him.

  He blows out a deep breath and stares out over the pool. “This was last minute trip, had to talk to Pop about something important.”

  “Oh my gawd,” I squeal out. “Did you ask Dad for Gran’s ring? Are you finally popping the question?”

  Brant shakes his head and takes a long pull from his beer bottle. “Nope, Natalie cheated on me.”

  I stare at him in shock. “What the fuck?”

  Brant swings his feet off the chaise setting them to the concrete. “Caught her in bed with my boss,” he says and brushes a hand through his hair.

  I take a seat across from him. “Fucking bitch,” I inch out, before taking a long drink. “That’s awful. Are you okay?”

  My brother looks up at me and smiles. “Yeah, I’m good. As good as I can be, for a guy who saw his boss’ cock and balls.”

  “Did you kick her cheatin’ ass out of your apartment?”

  He nods. “Yep, she’s currently doing just that—moving the hell out.”

  A gasp falls from my mouth. My heart crash lands into my stomach. “Are you telling me this just happened?

  He lifts the bottle to his mouth. “Yeah, I came home after work yesterday, and found the two of them going at it on the sofa.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “I’m so sorry, Brant.”

  He grasps my hand and squeezes three times. “Thanks, Haven. I love ya.”

  “I love you too.”

  I squeeze back four times. That was our thing when we were kids, guess some things never change.

  “For the record, I never liked Natalie. You deserve better than her.”

  His hand lands on his heart. “Ouch, I’m still trying to process all this, but yeah, I won’t be trying to win her back. She just stood there pullin’ on her clothes begging for me to take her back. I punched Antonio.”

  “He deserved it.” I roll the bottle of beer between my palms. “So, what’s the plan? You said you had to talk to dad?”

  Brant rises to stand and walks toward the pool. Standing, overlooking the pool, my brother looks likes like a statue with his large frame. Both our parents our short, so I’m not real sure where he got his height of six-foot-two.

  I walk over to where he’s standing.

  “I got the call.” Brant says this like I’m supposed to know what call.

  My eyes narrow and I shrug. “What call?”

  Turning to face me, he blows out a deep breath and his shoulders roll forward. “The one where Pop asks me when I want to take my rightful place at the helm of Cardwell Bourbon.”

  The bombs keep dropping, leaving me stunned and at a loss for words.

  “Wow.” It’s all I can manage.

  “Yeah, wow.”

  We stand there, only silence passes until the crickets join in and the sound of the pool filter whirring brings me out of the deep thoughts in my mind.

  “If I’m being honest, I’ve been waiting for this day. How long do you have to make the decision?”

  “I’ve got until August. If I say no, the job goes to Wes.”

  A loud laugh explodes from my mouth. “Wes, running a company. That’s hysterical. No way Dad wants Wes, the kid who surfs in Bali and lives on a steady diet of tacos and tequila, running the company.”

  “I know, can you see him in a suit and tie? Holding meetings?” Brant unbuttons his shirt and tips his head from side to side. “Hey, dude, can you like get me that report and stuff? The one where we know how much we’re selling? You say there’s a problem with the order in Tucson? Where’s that again?” Brant doubles over laughing.

  I snort at Brant’s impression of our little brother. “I’m not sure Weston even knows how to tie a tie. Little caveman, he probably doesn’t own one. He called me a few days ago, said he was in California on the way to surf in Maui.”

  “He called me too. I thought he was going to ask me for a loan.”

  “Weird, has he done that before? Asked you for money?”

  “Once,” he admits.

  “Do you think he blew through his trust?”

  He shrugs. “I think he blew through his monthly allowance. It was the middle of the month when he called and asked for the money.”

  “Think we should be concerned?”

  Brant stands tall. “Nah, I don’t get that feelin’.”

  I look up at him. “So, what do you think you’ll do?”

  Brant wraps his arm around my shoulder. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’m going to give it some careful consideration. Because if Wes turns it down, you’re next and I already know your answer—a big fat hell no.”

  I sip my beer and let that idea roll around in my head. Me running Cardwell Bourbon. For years, I never wanted anything to do with the family business. It was more important for me to find my own path. But this thing with Tyler . . . no. No. Not going there. I’m not making a life altering decision based off whatever this is between the two of us.

  “Then it goes to Maybelle,” he says. “And Pop isn’t real keen on that idea.” Brant takes a long pull from his beer.

  “Why?”

  He shakes his head and he turns to face me. “Dunno, I got the feeling that there’s some tension between Uncle Royston and Pop. You haven’t heard anything have you?”

  “No, but I’ve mostly been hanging out at Sage’s place and with . . . Oh, hell, you’re gonna find out from Mom anyway.”

  His eyes narrow and he smirks. “She already told me you’re hooking up with someone.”

  “It’s not like that.” I bump his arm with my shoulder. “Tyler’s more than a hookup.”

  “You like this guy?”

  “I do. He’s a good guy. I can’t remember the last time I wanted someone this bad. Sorry if that’s an overshare. To make things more complicated, it’s only been a couple weeks.”

  “Well,” Brant drawls out. “A week, a month, who cares. I knew Natalie for two years before I even asked her out. I thought I knew her inside and out. Turns out, I wasn’t right for her.”

  “Nope, she wasn’t right for you,” I correct, tipping my beer bottle at him.

  He smiles and tosses back the rest of his beer. “Thanks, baby sis. So, aside from the guy, how’s work. Life?”

  “Life is good. Work is great. My boss is thinking about offering me a partnership.”

  “That’s freakin’ awesome, Haven. Yo
u deserve all the good things.”

  Smiling, I glance at my phone for the time. “How long you planning on staying here?”

  “Dunno, I’m in no hurry to get back to New York. I got someone there supervising Natalie’s move. I quit my job. I might stick around here for the summer. Or maybe, my lil’ sis will let me stay at her place in East Harbour for the summer.”

  “Anytime, you just let me know.”

  “All right. I appreciate it.”

  “Speaking of places, you gonna sell yours?”

  He exhales and runs a hand over his jaw. “I haven’t made any decisions. At this point, I’m going to crawl into bed and try and forget yesterday even happened.”

  “Yeah, I get that.” I reach up and hug Brant.

  Brant picks me up and swings me around, threatening to toss me in the pool.

  “Stop, put me down,” I yell out.

  He chuckles and takes the beer from my hand. “Get outta here and go see your guy. Have some fun.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I bound off toward the door to the house. When I pull on the handle, I turn back to my brother. “Hey, do you know Caroline Stratton?”

  He tugs his ear and looks up at the sky. “Yeah, I know her.”

  “She was asking about you the other day.” I give him a wink and step inside.

  Haven

  I hike up the walkway to Tyler’s house. My pulse pounds. I hear it in my ears.

  I knock on the door and ring the doorbell. Tyler jogs up to the storm door, shirtless and smiling.

  Gah. Holy hotness.

  I’m pretty sure there’s a picture of Tyler under the definition of hotness in the dictionary. And that smile, I’m a goner.

  Swallowing down my nerves, I jump into his arms when he opens the door.

  “Hi, beautiful,” he says, and carries me through the living room and down the hallway to his bedroom.

  “You’re not wasting anytime.”

  “Gotta use my time wisely where you’re concerned.”

  His words hit me right in the gut. I want to say I understand. But I don’t. This isn’t the time for declarations or weighty conversations. Later. Plus, with Tyler’s hands on me, kneading and caressing my ass, I can’t formulate the words . . . the right words.